


and you wanted an adventure

by kyrilu



Category: Luther (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 12:09:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrilu/pseuds/kyrilu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Alice sees John slouch, and make to put his hands in his pockets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and you wanted an adventure

**Author's Note:**

> S3 spoilers. It's a bit of a darker/angsty take of the finale.

Sometimes Alice sees John slouch, and make to put his hands in his pockets, but then he stops, realizing that he isn’t wearing his coat. He’s only wearing a jacket, where the pockets are located higher up and aren’t deep at all.

He keeps doing it, over and over again, until she gets sick of it and drags him into a clothing store. They’re in America. More specifically, a crowded mall.

“Pick something,” Alice tells him. “Make sure it isn’t like that old coat of yours. Not that same dull grey colour, anyway.”

“Seriously?” John says, looking at the rows and rows of clothes like he’s physically pained. “Alice. Going shopping isn’t something I’ve had in mind, during our grand world adventure. Or whatever this is.”

“Whatever this is,” Alice says, an agreement and an inquisition all at once. She shuffles through a rack, the hangers clinking against each other. “Hmm. How about blue?” She holds up a navy blue coat, smiling at him over its shoulder.

John shrugs. “It’s fine.”

“Black, maybe?” she tries, but the shade’s too close to his old one, so in the end they settle on the blue. She purchases the coat, helps him into its sleeves, and says, “There you are.”

He digs his hands into his pockets and there’s this look in his eyes that makes Alice want to laugh. _Yes,_ she wants to say out loud, _yes, you can kiss me now._

And to her surprise, he does.

 

* * *

 

Jenny Jones has her own flat in London. She’s a shop girl, but John says to Alice, “Jenny’s going places,” like he’s her father, and Alice raises an eyebrow, curious. Alice has never met Jenny, but she’s seen John send her plenty a postcard. He always goes digging through airport racks or little corner stores, bringing back postcards of modern art museums or local musicians and so on.

When they eventually visit, Jenny opens the door, looks at Alice and says, “Are you my psycho killer guardian angel?”

“Yes,” Alice says.

John barks out a noise that could be a ragged chuckle. He says, “ _Jenny_ ,” and her lips quirk into a little smile. “What’ve you been up to?"

“Nothing much,” Jenny says nonchalantly. She invites them in for lunch. Her refrigerator door, Alice notices, is full of John’s postcards, each tacked up with bright magnets. John smiles when he sees them, a twitch of his mouth, and he starts to tell her about the places where they’d been.

 

* * *

 

Alice puts her chin on John’s shoulder to peer at the chessboard. She says, “No, you should move your bishop _there._ ”

“Two-on-one, now,” Mark says, amused, and he takes his turn, pushing forward a black pawn. “That’s hardly fair.”

“I’ve got to agree with him,” John says. “I think I can hold my own here, yeah?” He momentarily leans his cheek back into hers, and she suppresses a shiver when rough stubble brushes against her skin. No -- later, she tells herself. Later.

“You’re losing,” Alice reminds him. There is a pile of white pieces on Mark’s side, lying forlornly on their sides. “I might be able to turn this game round. How about -- we alternate moves? Try to combine strategies, guess each other’s next moves. Fun.” She smiles with her teeth.

“All right,” John relents. Alice is finding that he doesn’t like refusing challenges. That he’ll match her, blow-for-blow. “What do you think, Mark?”

“Well...this could be interesting.” Mark nods, gives a smile. Poor scruffy weary Mark, but maybe he’s healing, albeit slowly. Nevertheless, Alice is rather fond of him. The one who gave voice to John’s desires: to murder the man that killed Zoe. The one who’s finding peace in this strange aftermath.

“Right,” Alice breathes into John’s ear. “ _Interesting._ ”

 

* * *

 

Alice likes to give John bruises with her kisses, little bite marks on his neck and shoulders. She likes the way he says her name, two quick smooth syllables _Al-ice_ , and she wants years and years and years of this. Years of him and her and travelling.

He listens to her when she talks about how the stars look in different parts of the earth. In terms of sentimentality, however, John is the brightest star out there, and Alice is as well, shining right next to him.

He says _Zoe_ sometimes, jerking awake out of nightmares, and Alice says, “Hush.” She holds John to her chest and says, “We got him, remember?”

 

* * *

 

One year later, an anniversary, and John insists that he wants to see Justin Ripley’s grave. So they go, to visit his wretched puppy, and Alice waits. She looks at the dreary grey sky in the meanwhile to let John grieve.

Erin Gray, however, has beaten John to the punch. She doesn’t leave any flowers or anything there, but murmurs something, gives a perfunctory nod. She turns back and says, “Luther.”

“DS Gray,” John says.

“It’s DCI now,” she corrects.

John is unfazed. Or perhaps even proud. “DCI Gray, then.”

Alice wonders if she should bother to hide or pull her hat down her ears. Instead she flicks Gray a lazy smile. “Hello, Detective.”

“Alice Morgan,” Gray says. She stares, her posture stiff. “You keep dangerous company, Luther.”

“Dangerous?” Alice scoffs. “Hardly. I’m rather crazy than inherently murderous, if you believe what those doctors had said. If I wanted you dead--”

“We’re not doing this,” John says with a firm shake of his head.

“You’re no fun,” Alice says, but he’s right, it’s time to go. “Well, DCI Gray. We best be off, then. Give Martin Schenk my love.”

No matter Gray’s rank, Alice is sure that no one will be chasing after them.

Gray glares, says, “I _swear_ \--”

“Erin,” John says, backing away, gently tugging on Alice’s forearm. “I miss him, too. And congratulations for your promotion.”

 

* * *

 

Mary Day is radiant and beautiful. John and Alice watch as she walks across the pavement with someone who’s probably her boyfriend or husband. Hand-in-hand; Alice and John never do that, that’s domestic, that’s too simplistic. Twee.

“I’m glad she’s doing good,” John says.

Alice doesn’t say anything, just stares at Mary’s blonde halo of hair in the sunlight. Mary Day. So that’s John’s ideal, or maybe what his ideal used to be.

 

* * *

 

All these remnants. John threw his coat in the river, but _Macbeth_ ’s been put into practice and there still are things that won’t wash off.

“All these ghosts of your past,” Alice says. Mark, Jenny, Gray, Schenk, Mary...he loves them, but they hurt him. She knows about the wrong sort of love, the kind you want to stop. The kind that leaves her parents lying in pools of their own blood, a more satisfying sight than Mary Day’s smile.

“What?” John says, his voice a sleepy whisper. They’re in bed, in a hotel far away from London, but not far enough.

“All these ghosts,” Alice repeats. “I can kill them for you. You should forget.”

He looks at her. He is once again DCI John Luther in all his self-righteousness and justice and pain. Still blazing strong.

“No, Alice,” he says. “No.”

 


End file.
